


Conception

by gryvon



Series: Acclimation [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/pseuds/gryvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur can't quite figure out why he's so lucky, not when he's covered in blood, most of it not his own, and his ears are ringing so bad he can hardly hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conception

"You," he hears Eames say from far away, "are a very lucky man."

Arthur can't quite figure out why he's so lucky, not when he's covered in blood, most of it not his own, and his ears are ringing so bad he can hardly hear. He's injured. He's self-aware enough to know that, but not much beyond that. The exact where is eluding him, though it must not be that badly or he'd be with Cobb and... Vincent... Edgar? The other man's name escapes him, but if his injuries were worse then he'd be with them, getting patched up, not... here.

The sound of water running is enough to give him some focus. Bathroom. Not a very good bathroom, or a very clean one. It has a vague motel look, definitely not the one he'd been staying at, likely somewhere in the lower end of Rabat. Eames is in front of him. Somehow, out of all the chaos, Eames is fine, unruffled, not even a scratch on him. Eames had driven him here. Eames had lent Arthur his coat, likely ruined now, to hide the blood as they walked in, with Eames carrying both their bags.

Arthur shivers as his shirt is pulled away. It sticks against parts of his arms and Eames croons softly at him as he pulls it away, pealing it gently off of wounded skin. Arthur barely feels the pain, or the cold. His gaze drifts. He slumps forward and Eames is there to catch him, propping Arthur's head on his shoulder while he unfastens Arthur's belt. Water slowly fills the tub.

Eames stands, taking Arthur reluctantly with him. He leans against Eames, unable to support his weight on his own and at the moment not caring where the support comes from. Eames is warm against his skin, and Arthur feels far too cold.

"Blessed temptation." He can feel Eames's breath against his ear. Arthur's pants drop to the floor, leaving him bare. "You're lucky I'm too much of a gentleman to take advantage of you right now."

The support suddenly disappears, making the world spin. He's being lifted and the next thing he knows, he's shoulder deep in warm water. Arthur closes his eyes in an effort to lessen the wave of dizziness that threatens to drown him. The only sounds in the bathroom are the occasional splash of water as Eames dips a washcloth under the surface and their breathing, one even, one labored.

His head falls against Eames's chest, though he only places it by the sound of rapid beating underneath his cheek. He relaxes against it, tension slowly leaving him after a very long, very harrowing day as Eames washes the blood off of his skin. Eames is gentle and careful, bordering on reverent as he runs the washcloth along each of Arthur's arms in turn, extra careful around the three deep scratches in his arm and shoulder. Grazes, he remembers offhandedly, near misses that could have been bullet holes, could have left him worse than Cobb and their associate.

Arthur starts to doze, somewhere between Eames's hands on his chest and his feet. Any other day, he would have been paying more attention, possibly fascinated by the way Eames's hands move over his skin or horrified by how exposed he was. He's losing the battle against consciousness, fading in and out, but there's something niggling at his mind, something that needs said.

"Eames." His voice cracks on the one word and Eames softly shushes him, urges him not to talk but he needs to. "Thank... you... Wanted to... thank you."

Eames stills for a moment, then runs his hand through Arthur's hair. It had gotten wet somehow, likely washed, and Arthur is only vaguely aware of the horrible wet mess he's made of Eames's shirt. "Any time, darling. Any time."

There are many things Arthur wants to say, feels he should say. That he was wrong about Eames. That he owes Eames his life, because it was his warning that kept Arthur from getting shot. He wants to acknowledge a truce between them, let Eames know that he's ready for a cease in hostilities, that he really appreciates the way Eames is taking care of him.

What comes out instead is "I like your hands."

He hears Eames chuckle but falls asleep before he hears the response.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on [tumblr](http://gryvon.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/gryvon). Prompts can be submitted [here](http://gryvon.com/uncategorized/prompt-me/). Check out my [blog](http://jennahale.com) and [writing website](http://gryvon.com).


End file.
